"Looks like some sort of martial arts hero type."
Deep Sashelas glared at that answer. "Whose mark is on him?"
Trishina swished her tail, the goddess of dolphins and ceteceans in general not having a very expressive face. "Considering that Asmodeus was about to harvest her, I'd think you would be a little more happy about that."
Deep Sashelas took a deep breath, letting the cool water flow through gills. "I'm just saying that someone new comes on the picture, we need to know who and why."
"Whose is this kid? He's a bit of a diamond in the rough ain't he?" said Flandal Steelskin, the gnomish god of metalcraft examining the image through a jeweler's loupe.
Ilmater shook his head. "He's not a Chosen. He's an outsider to the Realms. He rescued my Chosen though, so that's a blessing."
"Trust the god of enduring suffering to try and find a bright spot," said Flandal. "What do you think, Tempus?"
"The lad has fought, fought all his life to build his skill in the arts of battle," said the armored god of battle. He could sense such things after all. "He'll bear watching. Whose idea was the treasure chest?"
"My hand slipped," said Sune.
"Your 'hand slipped'?" asked Tempus, sounding annoyed.
"Well, mistakes happen," offered Ilmater. "Even Lord Ao and Those Who Judge In Shadow can attest that even though we're gods - we're hardly perfect."
"We gathered because of the danger to some of our Chosen, now that the immediate danger is gone, I have other concerns," said Tempus, vanishing a moment later.
Six years previously:
"Get it out!" screamed the woman, pain coloring her voice.
"Easy now, it's coming. I can see the head."
"Damn it! I want this to be OVER with!" The woman thrashed about as much as her current condition would allow her.
"Almost done."
The next scream was inarticulate, anger and despair and pain all mingling together in a howl.
A baby's cry could be heard immediately afterwards.
"Kill it."
"You just gave birth to her. Don't you want to see-"
"KILL it."
"Why did you bother carrying it to term if you just wanted her to die?"
The mother, sweat plastering her hair and leaving trails on her skin, turned an exhausted face to the midwife. "Geas. The bastard gave me a choice between remaining a slave or accepting the geas. Freedom in nine months or traded off to the aboleth for life. I chose the geas. I never wanted that thing. Just. Kill it now."
The midwife looked down at the mother as that mother drifted off to sleep, then down at the child she'd just delivered.
"I am a dwarf, and I'm digging a hole, diggy diggy hole..."
"What in the world? Is that a dragonborn child?"
Gromar Battlemace stopped singing, put down his pick and glared at his fellow. "Yes. A wee bairn I found in a settlement that was put to the torch last week. Looked like it were a battle betwixt the Shadovar out of that there Sakkors and the locals wiped out the locals. The child hidden away in a basket of greens."
"You're not planning on raising the child yerself are ye?" asked the female dwarf. "Lookit all the problems that Sandwich Stoutax brings her da' would ye?"
"Nay woman, child here gonna be a handful enow," said Gromar. "There a human run orphanage I be planning on visit next time I be going to the coast. Should be another year or so. Not going to be leaving the wee lassie to die alone ye know."
"Pfah, ye shouldna be getting involved with those Shadovar. What if ye bring them here ya idjit?!"
"Not going to be leaving no child to die on a hilltop ye daft woman! And don't be talking dirt about Stoutax either! Met that child and she be a fine enough young lady despite what race she be! Now let me get back to me tunnels! I got to finish this extension by the end of the week!"
"A dark elf child? What the hell?"
The high priest shook his head once. "This particular child is a long story."
The junior priest blinked and regarded the head of the Abbey. "You're saying something is a 'long story'? That must mean something that'd take days to recount."
"It involves time travel, battles between gods, an artifact sword, a magical flying monkey, two priests of Gond, elves and their political intrigue, and a crashed spelljammer." The old priest shook his head. "'Days'? I doubt I'd get through trying to explain the 'elven political intrigue' in less than a week."
"Elves do tend to complicate things unnecessarily," admitted the junior priest. "So - we're raising the child here?"
"Only for the first few years, then she's being moved before the Shadovar can come after her to an orphanage. It's already being prepared with runes and sigils to mask its location."
The junior caught that and stared at the child. "A Chosen then?"
"You always were a fairly quick one," said the archpriest with a kindly smile.
"Which god?" asked the junior, knowing that the archpriest most likely knew.
The archpriest said a name.
"Isn't that a 'dead god'?" asked the junior. "Can there be a Chosen for a dead god?"
"Apparently," said the archpriest drily. "Told you it was complicated."
"Now":
Seven kids.
He only knew a few of their names so far. Weird names too.
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(Posted Sat, 18 Oct 2014 16:44)
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らんま1/2 © Rumiko Takahashi
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